


a brand new need is born

by terpsichorean



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Dubious Medical Practices, First Kiss, Foggy's poor decision making, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terpsichorean/pseuds/terpsichorean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a series of poor life choices, this is probably the worst one. </p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>In which Foggy Nelson adopts yet another sad faced vigilante, uses WikiHow far too much, and gets a new phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a brand new need is born

**Author's Note:**

> This is trash fic to satisfy my own weird needs. I had this idea months ago because of a prompt, and finally filled a couple of different ones. I haven't read a lot of Punisher stuff (mostly just when he shows up in Daredevil) so I hope I didn't totally destroy his character. In the end, this was a lot of fun to write, so hopefully you enjoy it half as much as I did. 
> 
> The title is from The Hymn of Acxiom, which is the song you need to listen to if you want to understand where Frank is coming from in this fic. 
> 
> Foggy consults two WikiHow articles in this, as follows:  
> http://www.wikihow.com/Attend-to-a-Stab-Wound  
> http://www.wikihow.com/Treat-a-Concussion

Foggy really should know better than this.

 

Yes, it had been a few months since Fisk had been arrested, so any immediate threat on their lives should, theoretically, have disappeared. But it had also been a few months since Foggy had found out that his best friend had apparently lost his mind and decided to dress up as the Dread Pirate Roberts in order to beat people up in back alleys. The same kind of back alley Foggy had just passed when he heard a crash from within, followed by a faint groan.

 

He really shouldn’t investigate. The alley was dark, and smelly. It was probably some kind of mugger supervillain, lying in wait in the hopes of ensnaring broke defense attorneys who didn’t know better to not go into creepy alleys in Hell’s Kitchen after midnight. Matt would kill him if he got shanked doing something so stupid.

 

But therein lay the problem: maybe it was Matt. Maybe Matt was stuck in there, hurt and trying to communicate to Foggy through some kind of ninja morse code. One groan for please help me Foggy I’m stupid and fell in the trash where I belong, two groans for no Foggy I swear I’m fine I definitely didn’t get stabbed. Ever since Matt had told him how he met Claire, Foggy had had nightmares about finding Matt in his garbage can. He was probably working on a nice ulcer by now.

 

In any case, he still shouldn’t investigate. Even if it was Matt, he’d probably just lay there and bleed everywhere while bitching Foggy out about taking unnecessary risks with his life. Hypocrisy, thy name is Murdock. So he definitely should ignore the further pained noises coming from the alley, continue on his way home, and order some takeout Thai before staying up all night watching Sharknado for the fifth time.

 

Yeah, who was he kidding. Foggy had never been very good at keeping his nose out of places it shouldn’t be, and he wasn’t about to start now.

 

He ventured into the alley slowly, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It didn’t end up mattering anyway; he tripped over the guy before he saw him.

 

The lump at his feet - the huge lump holy Christ this guy was fucking giant - groaned loudly. He was sprawled on his side and had blood smeared across his shirt and face.

 

Foggy immediately knelt beside him, hands hovering uncertainly. “Holy shit, are you okay?”

 

The guy groaned again, and opened his eyes in slits to give Foggy an impressively dirty look. Yeah, that had probably been a stupid question.

 

Foggy finally managed to put his hands into motion and went for his phone. “Okay, well, I’m gonna call an ambulance because I’m pretty sure that blood is all supposed to be on the inside.”

 

The guy groaned again, and weakly pawed at the phone in Foggy’s hand. “No hospitals.” he managed to mumble coherently.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Why was this Foggy’s life? Was refusing to go to the hospital for things that obviously needed medical attention something that people did all the time and Foggy had just never noticed before? “What do you suggest then?”

 

The guy began to speak, a stubborn look on his face that Foggy recognized intimately from so many years spent with Matthew “yes I realize my ankle is sprained but I can definitely walk home you go ahead and I’ll catch up” Murdock. Foggy cut him off. “And don’t even try to get me to leave you here. You obviously need help and I’m not gonna be able to sleep if I just leave you bleeding next to a dumpster.”

 

The guy glared for a second, then said, “The bleeding’s mostly stopped.”

 

Foggy blinked. “Ooookay. Not what I asked. Can you stand up?”

 

The guy - and seriously Foggy was going to have to find out his name - snorted derisively, then started to push himself upright, leaning against the wall. Foggy grabbed his elbow and guided him the rest of the way up. Wow, this guy was much larger standing than sprawled on the ground.

 

“Alright, good, standing is good. Can you walk?” The guy glared at him again and yeah, that was enough of that. “Okay, dude, stop glaring and start talking. I’m helping you out of the goodness of my heart and the least you can do is use your words.”

 

He blinked at Foggy before nodding reluctantly. He winced immediately and wavered slightly on his feet, leaning into the hold Foggy still had on his elbow. Okay, so dizziness. He probably had a concussion. Foggy put that on his list of things to worry about. “Yeah, I can walk.”

 

“Good,” Foggy said, “because my apartment is about two blocks away and I don’t think I can carry you without breaking my spine.”

 

Which is how Foggy ended up with an injured man sitting on his couch. Not usually how Foggy spent his Friday nights - well that was actually a lie. It was usually how Foggy spent his Friday nights, it was just a different guy than usual bleeding all over his upholstery.

 

Foggy got his first aid kit and placed it on the coffee table, gingerly sitting beside it. “Okay, um, where are you hurt?”

 

In response, the guy took his shirt off. Foggy almost didn’t notice the wound at first because wow this guy was ripped, those abs were fucking ridiculous, but in the end, giant gashes were a little distracting.

 

“Holy shit, what happened?” It looked like he’d gotten on the wrong end of a machete.

 

The guy shrugged, barely even wincing when it pulled on the gash. “Some asshole trying to rob some kid. I stopped him.”

 

And Jesus, this was Foggy’s life wasn’t it? There was no God, otherwise Foggy would not be playing nursemaid to yet another vigilante type in his apartment at two in the morning instead of watching guys take out flying sharks with chainsaws.

 

“And your head?”

 

The guy looked a little embarrassed. “There may have been more than one asshole.”

 

Foggy sighed. “Of course there was.” He should introduce this guy to Matt, they’d probably get along like a house on fire. A very injured and life risking house on fire.

 

Foggy hesitated. He was so out of his depth. His first instinct (after calling an ambulance) was to get in touch with Claire for some advice, but he didn’t have her number. Considering he was usually calling her about Matt, he relied on Matt’s burner phone for that. And if he called Matt and asked for it, he’d get suspicious and probably be over here and knocking on the window in two seconds, and Foggy didn’t really want the guy on his couch to know that Foggy knew Daredevil. That would probably get awkward.

 

In the end, he pulled out his phone and pulled up his browser. They sat in silence for a minute, Foggy tapping at his keyboard, before the guy spoke. “What are you doing? I thought I said no hospitals.”

 

Foggy snorted. “Yeah, yeah, calm down big guy. I’m not calling anyone.”

 

“So what are you doing?”

 

Foggy blushed and hoped the guy wouldn’t notice. “I’m, uh. I’m Googling it.”

 

He snuck a look at the guy’s face and yep, there was the look of horror he had been expecting. “You’ve never done this before?”

 

“Never is a strong word. I just need some advice from the internet.” When he just looked more horrified, Foggy turned back to his phone. “Besides, I wasn’t the guy bleeding out in an alley, so really, if anyone here has made poor life choices tonight, it’s not me.” He didn’t have anything to say to that, so Foggy continued to read in peace.

 

Ooh, How to Attend to a Stab Wound (with pictures). Seemed promising. First, survey the area. Well, he’d already fucked that up. Second, call for emergency help immediately. Zero for two. Okay, well it looked like the bleeding had already stopped, so he could skip that step. Cleaning the wound it was. Foggy grabbed the plastic gloves and alcohol from the first aid kit. “So the internet tells me that this is gonna hurt.”

 

The guy huffed, but smiled a little this time. It was a nice smile, even with the blood.

 

Foggy winced at the guy’s hiss of pain. “Sorry. “

 

“It’s okay.” the guy said softly.

 

They descended into silence, the only sounds the guy’s quiet grunts of pain. Foggy realized it might help if he could take his mind of the pain and cleared his throat, picking up the gauze and tape. “So, what’s your name? I’m Foggy, by the way, Foggy Nelson. I just realized how creepy it probably was for me to just take you to my house without telling you who I am. I promise I’m not a serial killer or something.”

 

The guy didn’t say anything. Finally, when Foggy had almost given up on getting an answer, he spoke. “Frank. My name’s Frank.” He sounded the words had been pulled out of him against his will.

 

Foggy stopped what he was doing, making sure to make eye contact and smile as sweet as he could. Positive reinforcement, right? “Frank. It’s nice to meet you.” The guy - Frank - swallowed and nodded, before looking away.

 

After Foggy had managed to take care of the gash (thanks WikiHow), he turned his attention to the head wound. There was a small-ish cut which he cleaned and closed, before turning back to his phone. He was still worried about that possible concussion, so he turned back to his phone.

 

“Umm, do you have a headache? Sensitivity to light? Do you feel nauseous?”

 

Frank smiled again. It was just a little upward quirk at the corner of his mouth, but it was something. “I don’t have a concussion Foggy.”

 

Foggy frowned. “How do you know? Have you had a lot of them?”

 

“Enough.”

 

Foggy scoffed. “Well, that’s not ominous at all.”

 

Frank started to get off the couch, reaching for his shirt. “Seriously, Foggy, I’m fine.”

 

“Wait wait wait, are you leaving? Shouldn’t you rest or something? Dude, you just got stabbed!”

 

Frank looked awkward for a second before he forced his face back into blankness. “I should go.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but closed his mouth with a click.

 

Foggy stood up too, hurrying to the kitchen and back. “Okay, just let me -” then he reached up with the wet cloth and wiped gently at the dried blood on Frank’s face. “You look like an extra from Friday the 13th. Not exactly incognito.”

 

It took less than a minute but by the time Frank’s face was clean, he was looking at Foggy like he’d never seen him before.

 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, breaking the hushed silence that had fallen around them.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Foggy said, equally quiet.

 

Frank stared at him for a second, before pulling away and putting his shirt back on. Foggy blushed when he realized he had basically forced himself into Frank’s space while Frank was still half naked. God, this was why he had no friends, no wonder Frank was weirded out.

 

Still, he had been stabbed earlier in the night, and Foggy wasn’t about to half ass this. “You sure you’re okay to get home?”

 

Frank nodded, grunting an affirmative. Apparently the speaking portion of the evening was over.

 

Foggy sighed. “Okay, well. You might as well use the door, it’d look a little a weird if you came into my apartment and never left.”

 

Frank nodded again, gave Foggy a lingering look, and left. The door closed quietly behind him.

 

Foggy rolled his eyes and began to pack up his first aid kit. As much as that had been an interesting way to spend his night, he was exhausted and really wanted to faceplant in his bed as soon as possible. More than likely he would never see Frank again and this would be an isolated incident and Foggy could reserve his medical supplies and dubious skills for the other vigilante in his life.

 

\---------------

 

Yeah, so that last part was a giant lie.

 

It’s not like Foggy went seeking him out. It was definitely not his fault that he had no self control and couldn’t stop himself from running toward the sounds of people in pain rather than running in the other direction.

 

This meant that he came across an injured Frank multiple times throughout the next month. Each time, he dragged him home, fixed him up (WikiHow was now the top visited site in his browser), and sent him home. Whenever he did, Foggy noticed other injuries that he hadn’t fixed, ones Frank must have gotten on nights when Foggy didn’t happen across him. Finally, Foggy got fed up and demanded that Frank come to him whenever he was hurt, even if Foggy didn’t find him.

 

“Otherwise I’m just gonna worry, man. Please spare my ever growing ulcer and let me help you.”

 

There was silence for a second, prompting Foggy to look up. Frank was staring at him, the hunted look of a wounded animal in his eyes. It was the same look that he got whenever Foggy said anything to him that remotely approached normal human kindness. Foggy recognized it well; Matt had his own version of that look, although his looked more like ‘kicked puppy’ than ‘scared puppy’. It hurt Foggy’s heart just the same.

 

“I’m serious, man. I think about you bleeding in some shitty alley somewhere, and -” he cut himself off before he could further down the rabbit hole. “Just let me help you, okay? Please?”

 

Frank stared at him for another second, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

 

Which is how Foggy become official back up for another vigilante. Sometimes he would be woken up by quiet taps on his window and find Frank crouching awkwardly on his fire escape. Other times, he would come home from a late night at the office and find Frank already on his couch, holding some gauze to a bleeding wound and watching a telenovela. It got to the point that Foggy probably wouldn’t notice if there was an actual intruder in the apartment because he was so used to people breaking in.

 

This continued for awhile. Then one night, after Foggy had taped a cut closed and peeled off his gloves, Frank grabbed one of his hands and pressed a phone into his palm. It was an old model, cheap. Foggy turned it over in his hands, fiddling with the buttons. There was only one contact, just the letter F. Before he could ask, Frank started to speak.

 

“I wanted a way to get in touch with you. So I could let you know if I was coming over instead of just showing up. I’m the only one who has that number. And my number is programmed in, in case you ever need to call me.” Frank was staring at him, an intense look on his face. Foggy didn’t know what it meant; he wasn’t fluent in Frank, like he was in Murdock and Page. He was working on it, though.

 

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He did, really. On one hand, it would be really nice to know if he needed to break out his first aid kit before he walked in the door to a serious medical emergency. On the other, he could tell how hard this level of human contact was for Frank. He didn’t know a hell of a lot about Frank, but he knew something horrible had happened to him, something which had damaged his ability to trust and rely on people. It was a bit of rush to know that Frank trusted him to be there for him, and he wanted Frank to know he realized what a leap of faith this was for him.

 

Frank smiled, the sweet one that only came out when Foggy made a particularly good joke. It was just a little soppy and it made Foggy’s heart pick up a bit every time he saw it, so maybe it was a good thing that Frank only did it once in a blue moon.

 

“Good,” Frank murmured, and only then did Foggy realize a few things. One, they had been sitting in silence and grinning at each other for at least a minute. Two, Frank’s hand was rested on his knee, and had been ever since he gave Foggy the phone. Three, said hand was steadily creeping up the outside of Foggy’s thigh. Four, Frank was no longer looking him in the eye, but staring at his lips. Foggy licked them unconsciously, and watched the heat pool in Frank’s eyes. Oh shit, was he -

 

And before Foggy could say anything, Frank was kissing him. His other hand came up to cup Foggy’s cheek, calluses rough on his skin. His lips moved against Foggy’s, parting them so he could feel just the right amount of tongue.

 

Frank withdrew after long moments, but stayed close, resting his forehead against Foggy’s. Foggy kept his eyes closed, resting a hand on Frank’s (incredibly well defined and currently naked) chest. Frank took a harsh breath and kissed him again, pulling Foggy closer.

 

They finally parted and Foggy opened his eyes. Frank looked hazy, his lips red and kiss bruised. His must look the same, judging by Frank’s inability to look away from them.

 

Frank finally looked up and met his eyes. “I’ll call you,” he whispered. Foggy nodded dumbly, not knowing what to say.

 

And then, with one more lingering kiss, Frank stood and slipped out the fire escape, pulling on his shirt as he went. Foggy scraped together enough brain cells to vaguely hope that no one noticed the half naked man exiting his apartment.  

 

He sat in silence for a second, fiddling with the phone in his hand and wondering what he had done in his life to get to this point. Best friends with one vigilante, making out with another, and now he wasn’t sure if the phone was going to be for medical emergencies, booty calls, or both. Foggy looked down at said phone, aghast.

 

“Oh my god. I’m Hottie McBurner Phone.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at kaledanvers.tumblr.com


End file.
